Some Nights
by Yellow-Spider
Summary: Steve encounters the Angel of Thursday. * Pointless One-shot*


**Takes place pre-movie Avengers and somewhere before **_**"The Man Who Would Be King"**_** Season 6 of Supernatural. In mythology Castiel is the Angel of Thursday, and will help anybody who asks for it on this day. I am not religious, so sorry if I got some religious facts wrong, and this is my first attempt at writing Supernatural.**

"_There are some nights I hold on to every note I ever wrote  
Some nights, I say "fuck it all" and stare at the calendar  
Waiting for catastrophes, imagine when they scare me  
Into changing whatever it is I am changing into..."  
-Some Nights (Intro), Fun._

The little quant church on the outskirts of New York was silent. Light flittered through the stain glass windows delicately, staining the church pews a million different colours. The hard marble floor reflected the blinding sunlight that came through the open doors while the light stone walls made all the sounds from inside the tiny church echo.

Truth be told there actually wasn't much sound. Only a single man sat within the church. His blonde hair was perfectly in place, his clothes unwrinkled and more akin to the earlier eras. Though his face was youthful, his eyes were old. The blue looked as though to resemble the sky – daring and bright, but hidden beneath was a storm cloud. Not of anger, no, but rather sadness.

A deep painful sadness.

The sadness had wormed its way into his heart. Eating it at it, tearing at it, just waiting for the man to finally give in and let the tears escape. Steve Rogers hadn't let the emotion leak yet. He kept it locked up inside, for who would listen? Who would sit and listen to him list off his problems?

No one.

Everyone who would was dead or elderly. Howard Stark-dead. James 'Bucky' Barnes- MIA (presumed dead). Peggy Carter- retired and in her nineties. He had yet to visit Peggy. He had stared at the phone that rested in his empty apartment and _hadn't even called her. _She had been waiting seventy years and he couldn't even gather up the courage to just _call her. _He felt weak. He felt exposed.

And so he came to church. It was empty, not even a Father was here. It was the middle of a Thursday so he wasn't surprised. Truth be told he preferred it to be empty. It gave him time to think. What would he do now? Surely he would do work for SHIELD, that was the obvious answer. But what else? Would he just sit in his empty apartment for the rest of the time, watching his old war videos?

He bent his head forward and closed his eyes, starting to pray. He was mid thought when the sound of loud fluttering wings made him jolt up. He looked around, expecting perhaps a bird to have gotten stuck within the building. Instead he saw a man.

At about average height he seemed to stoop on himself slightly. He wore a blue suit, a backwards tie, and a beige trench coat- all of which looked worn and crinkled. His brown hair was a mess, a light stubble dotted his chin, and he had a permanent tired look on his face. Deep lines were etched into his brow, and dark bags rested underneath his eyes. The eyes were different though. It was a blue so vibrant and alive it contradicted his whole appearance.

Without a word the man walked towards the front pews and took a seat. Steve shook his head and turned himself back to his prayers.

_Please. Send me a sign- tell me what I'm supposed to do, I just need some help, _Steve pleaded mentally as he clenched his eyes shut.

"God doesn't send signs anymore," a rather gruff and gravely voice made Steve look up again. The man who had entered previously was staring ahead at the altar.

"Pardon?" Steve questioned as he straightened.

"I have tried," the man titled his head to the side as he gazed up at the painted glass image of Jesus on the cross, "but he has not responded."

Steve sat in stunned silence for a moment, "he will eventually," the Captain said finally, "he wouldn't just ignore us."

"I suppose you're right, Captain Rogers," the man put his head down once again, "but eventually isn't soon enough."

"How do you know my name?" Steve stiffened in his seat, "who are you?"

"I know a lot of things. Maybe too much," the man finally turned to look at him, "I am an Angel of the Lord."

Steve stared at the man in confusion and disbelief, "are you feeling alright, sir?"

"You ask for help, and yet you doubt me," Castiel's head cocked to the side, much like a dogs, "I have not been present on Thursday for many years."

Steve looked him up and down, taking in the worn appearance of the man. Part of him craved for the man to be right, but the other more rational part wondered if the man had been hit on the head. This 'Castiel' certainly didn't look like an Angel of the Lord.

"My real form is as big as the Chrysler Building," the man commented and gestured to himself, "it is merely a vessel- a devout man who prayed for it," the church darkened slightly as large black shadows immerged from the man as he stood, the shadows formed the shape of wings.

Steve was shocked into silence. It was either some fancy trick or this man was speaking the truth.

"You doubt yourself," The man walked closer to him, and Steve hurried to stand, "you think yourself lost, and you think the Lord has abandoned you-" the man stared at the ceiling "-perhaps that he is punishing you in some way."

"How do you know this?" Steve questioned.

"For I feel the same as you," the angel began walking away, "find yourself and you shall find faith."

The man stopped in the doors of the church, and for a moment he seemed to be wrapped in the light of the day, shining brightly.

"Oh," he turned around and looked Steve in the eye, "as my fri-" he seemed to catch himself, as if he couldn't bring himself to say the word _friend,_ "-someone I know would say. Hurry up and call the damned girl."

And then he was gone- leaving behind the sound whooshing wings.

So Steve Rogers was left alone in the empty church, with only the memory of the mans advice. _Find yourself and you shall find faith. _With a moments hesitation the man pulled out his sleek phone and punched in the number he had memorized days prior.

"Peggy," Steve gazed at the stain glass windows, "It's Steve."

"_Oh my God! Have you listened to me lately?  
Lately, I've been going crazy.."_


End file.
